Once Upon a Time in a World of Dreams
by SunnydaleGirl
Summary: Willow's trapped in her dreams and they're slowly killing her.
1. Chapter One

**Summary:** A demon has trapped Willow within her dreams and their nightmare have become her reality but that reality is slowing torturing Willow, draining her of her sanity and her life. Angel, however, is the only one able to reach her with a little help from the most unlikely person. Can Angel convince Willow that she's living in a dream and force her to wake up? Or will she be lost forever within her own nightmare?

**Disclaimer:** Joss is still the man.

**Rating:** PG-ish.

**Author's Note:** This is an AU fic but for timeline's sake think post season 6.

She was running. Her lungs burned and her limbs ached but still she ran. Fear crept up along her spine and her heart raced within her chest. She was going to die. Death was all that consumed her as she ran – a death quickly approaching; a death she was terrified of living. It felt like she'd been running for hours but she knew, in reality, it had only been a matter of minutes. It was cold. Snow settled comfortably along the sidewalk making her steps unsteady and slowing her down. The sharp winds pricked her skin and tossed her hair across her eyes. She couldn't see but she never stopped running.

          Through the park then one cemetery, two, three. Back onto the streets she ran looking for someone, anyone, who might help her. There was no one. The world was asleep and she was alone. Tears clawing like ice down her cheeks fell at her feet and quiet sobs coked in her throat. Her body was tiring and her pace was slowing down. She couldn't push herself any longer – she didn't have the strength.

          Death.

          A vise closed in around her body: arms stronger than her own clutching her fragile body against his chest. A soft growl and cold breath against her neck. Eyes closed she felt her hot tears turn to ice against her flesh. This was it; the end. Unable to do anything else she wept and begged for only death but behind her pleas and useless tears she knew death was much too easy. Wrenching her eyes shut as his sharp teeth pierced her skin and feeling her head grow light as her heart stilled. One beat, two. Death was there, within her grasp but just as her fingers reached out to it, death fled her and a new life coerced through her veins. Death, but still life. Immortality, but existence damned.

          A vampire.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Willow awoke with a cry on her lips and sweat dripping down her forehead. Her breath came quickly and her heart felt as though it were about to pound out of her chest. An icy chill still lingered at the nape of her neck and her body still shivered in fear. Running her fingers through her damp hair Willow tried to swallow the tears that threatened to overflow and shake away her nightmare.

          It had only been a dream.

          Allowing her eyes to flutter closed Willow took a deep breath and sipped the glass of water beside her bed. Only a dream, she told herself. Once calmed, the redhead laid back down and fell again into sleep.

          "This is Kevin down here at Radio 6 and I'd like to say good morning Sunnydale, California."

          Groaning, Willow turned her head away from the obtrusive sun and hit the off button on her alarm clock then snuggled back into her warm blankets to get another few minutes of shut-eye. But, just as she was about to slip back into dreamland a knock came at her door and the voice of a certain British vampire echoed through her room, "Out of bed, pet."

          Covering her head with her pillow Willow ignored Spike and rolled away, placing her back to him. Chuckling, the bleached vampire came to end of her bed and whipped off the blankets from Willow's bed. Immediately shocked by the sudden cold Willow shot up and glared at Spike. "Sometimes I hate you."

          "No you don't," Spike shook his head. "Now out of bed before I pull you out."

          Yawning, Willow pushed herself out of bed and stretched her stiff limbs. "Is there still hot water left?"

          "Should be," Spike answered. "I haven't gotten in yet this morning."

          Knowing that Spike always spent at least an hour in the shower and used up all the hot water Willow thanked whatever god was responsible for his waiting and hurried into the bathroom. Spike and Tara had been living with Willow at her parent's house for a little over six months and the three were still adjusting the change.

          Willow had offered Spike a room at her house after his crypt was destroyed – burned down when lightning struck a nearby tree and crashed one of its limbs onto the roof, nearly missing Spike where he slept on his couch. Spike had been reluctant at first then happily accepted the invitation and moved what little he owned into one of the spare bedrooms. Tara had moved in just a week later because her father had cut her off from the family inheritance and she could no longer afford to pay her rent. It was a bit overwhelming at first, Willow admitted, but once the threesome became accustomed to each others routines and schedules they fell into their own little routine.

          It was amusing, Willow observed only a month after Spike and Tara moved in with her, that her two friends actually thought her naïve of their relationship. Tara had only been a member of the Scooby gang for a few weeks when she and Spike started seeing each other – in private. Neither of them, however, was very good at hiding their feelings for the rest of the gang had picked up on it immediately though no one said anything. Even after the two took up residence with Willow and started sneaking to each others room at all hours of the night they still thought their relationship undiscovered. It was actually Willow that confronted them and asked them to please keep it down when they walked from one side of the hall to the other at one or two in morning because their footsteps were keeping her awake. Spike and Tara's expressions had been priceless and since then the two had been open in their affections and were shocked to learn that their dating had been known all along.

          Buffy, one the other hand, had sold her mother's house, after she died, and moved in with Xander and Anya who were thrilled to have an apartment buddy. Strangely enough, the three of them actually got along rather well while living together which admittedly shocked Willow since Anya had always been so outspoken about how the other Scooby's annoyed her by always wanting to hang around. Giles, not surprisingly, still lived alone in his apartment with all his books and hidden stash of whiskey he thought none of the gang knew about.

          "I had the worst nightmare last night," Willow spoke walking into the kitchen.

          "What about, love?" Spike asked, setting a plate of pancakes before her. Spike, surprisingly, was an amazing cook which was strange since he didn't eat. 

          Digging into her food with ravaging hunger Willow responded, "I can't remember."

          Spike laughed. "The how do you know it was so bad?"

          "I don't know," Willow shrugged. "Just a feeling I have. Like it was real, you know? And man, it felt so real. I woke up still believing I was living the dream."

          "Pet, you're not making much sense," Spike chuckled. "You say you had a dream but you can't remember it yet you swear it felt like you were actually living it?"

          "Now that I hear you say it, it does sound kind of loony," Willow smiled. "but, oh I don't know! I can't explain it other than this is: it was like I was actually living the nightmare not just that it _felt_ real but it _was_ real."

          Spike's brow crinkled and he placed his hand over Willow's. "I was just a dream Wills. Just because it felt real doesn't mean it was." Willow shrugged and Spike added, "Well, what else did you dream last night? Can you remember?"

          "I dreamt that, that you and I started an ostrich farm."

          "That's a bit disturbing," Spike smiled, "but do you see my point?"

          Nodding, Willow took another bite of her pancakes and turned the conversation to other things.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Cries of agony echoed all around her but she was trapped in a world of darkness. Nothingness was all that existed: a blackhole of empty thoughts and feelings. Devoid of all things living and haunted by the souls of the damned it was a realm of never ending death and pain. Paralyzed atop her legs and unable to free herself from some unseen hold Willow was forced to listen to the pleading cries and cursing screams of billowy faces. Ghostly hands clawed at her, dragging razor nails across her flesh. Aching and bleeding her legs swelled and collapsed. She was falling.

          Down and down she fell into the void, grasping at the blackness for any hold she could find. There was nothing. Terror was quick to latch itself onto her soul and tears of madness began to slowly stick to her cheeks. Willow was wrapped in emptiness and still farther did she tumble into insanity.

          The pleading cries of death faded and took with them their world of darkness. Whispers of deranged children flooded Willow's mind and brought with them a world of absurdity. Pounding in her head was the sound of dying heart beats and laughter of the senseless. Torturous and relentless shadowy figures coiled Willow in frigid horror that stung her wounds and tore at her lingering sanity. Delusion was creeping up Willow's spine.

          Light: blinding, dry rays of mist shimmering across a land of bleak existence. A vast expanse of grey. Stepping further into the light Willow recognized her home. Sunnydale. Blanketed in a cloud of dismal, emotionless presence Sunnydale spiraled around life lived unattached. Not knowing what to believe Willow emerged from the misted light and was all at once ensnared in the world of grey.

          Madness. Delusion. Detachment.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Rolling onto her back Willow starred at the ceiling and tried to remember the dream she had just awoken from. A dream that left an eerie feeling in her gut. Eventually giving up Willow sighed and flipped the light switch beside her bed. Harsh, iridescent lighting flood her room and she winced slightly, forcing her eyes to adjust. Outside her window Willow glimpsed the stars still hanging in the night sky then turned to see the time. 2:04 am.

          Knowing she'd never get back to sleep Willow pushed herself out of bed and sat down at her computer. After answering a couple of emails and having nothing else to do Willow typed the words 'dream demons' into the search engines. Curiosity, Willow told herself. It was just curiosity and nothing more. She refused to believe that she herself might be the victim of one such dream demon.

          When her eyes started to droop and ache from the bright screen Willow logged off and crawled back into bed. Sleep came quickly and her dreams were pleasant.

          "You look like hell, pet."

          Willow tried to glare at Spike but yawned instead. "You should talk."

          "And grouchy, too," Spike mumbled.

          "Sorry, Spike," Willow said while pouring a cup of coffee. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

          "Another dream?" Tara asked, lowering the newspaper she was reading. Willow nodded. "That's, what, twelve nights in two weeks?"

          Willow shrugged. "There only dreams. I guess I'm just a light sleeper."

          "You never were before," Spike said.

          "People change," Willow argued.

          "In two weeks?" Tara asked.

          "It's no big deal," Willow's voice was final. "You told me yourself Spike: their just dreams."

          "But pet – "

          "Just drop it, okay?" Willow pleaded.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Classes were pointless that day. Willow slept through everyone of them and missed a pop quiz. She couldn't explain it but lately Willow had been excessively tired and nodded off simply by leaning against a wall. It was the nightmares, she reasoned with herself. They kept her awake at night so it was logical that she was sleepy during the day. Though that's what she told herself and her friends Willow herself was skeptical. It's one thing to be tired but another to immediately fall asleep every time you close your eyes.

          Willow was starting to get scared.

          What's worse, she told her friends, she couldn't, for the life of her, remembering anything about the dreams that woke her almost every night. As hard as she tried not a single inkling the dreams remained in her head. After a while it became increasingly frustrating and Willow grew quick to annoy. When she was able to stay awake long enough to hold any form of conversation the level-headed redhead snapped at every comment spoken others and argued incessantly – even when she had no idea what the other person was talking about. Common as it was to be a bit snippy in the morning to be short-nerved all day long every day was worrisome, even among the Scooby gang.

          "I'm worried about her," Buffy said one afternoon. She, Giles, Spike and Xander were sitting around Giles' living room waiting for the others to arrive for the gang's weekly Scooby Meeting. 

          Conversation had quickly turned to Willow's situation.

          "We all are," Xander said. "I mean, it's so unlike Willow."

          "I'm as baffled as you are," Giles put in, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his sweater.

          The four were silent for a moment before Buffy asked, "Could this be an attack?"

          Xander and Spike shrugged while Giles frowned. "I considered it myself," Giles admitted. "But in all the research I did, I came across no references to a demon capable of creating the symptoms Willow is suffering."

          "Then what is it?" Buffy's voice was pleading and her friends understood her grief but none of them had the answer – or even knew where to begin.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

          "What are you doing here?"

          "What do you mean?"

          "You're not supposed to be here."

          "That's ridiculous. Where else would I be?"

          "But, you're dead."

          "Willow, are you feeling alright?"

          Starring blankly into the hollow eyes of a woman Willow knew should not be there she felt doubt, at the back of her mind, begin to push itself forward. Maybe the woman _was_ supposed to be there – but this is a dream, Willow argued. 

Is it?

The question throbbed in her subconscious, twisting her threads of reality and making her question her own existence. "Willow?" The hollow-eyed woman before her touched Willow's arm with icy fingers. "Do you really believe that I'm dead?" There was laughter in the woman's voice.

"I – " 

"It's a simple question, honey." Willow nodded but still didn't respond. "Here," taking Willow's dreary-colored hand the woman placed it in her own. Grey atop grey; drab alongside drab; reality hazed in dream. "You see," the woman spoke, "you are no different than me. So if I am dead then that must mean you are as well. Which is absurd," the woman laughed.

Lifting her own opaque eyes Willow looked into the hollow depths of the woman's. She was right, Willow thought. I am no different then her. Smiling slightly Willow responded, "You're right. I'm just feeling a bit off today. I don't know what I was thinking – how can you be dead when you're standing right in front of me?"

"My point exactly," the ashen-skinned woman smiled back. "Now, Willow, how would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love one Mrs. Summers."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Confusion. Doubt. Skepticism.

Is it a dream? Should I believe it? Is my reality a lie?

Willow starred out into the colorless horizon watching the arid sky fade to a deeper shade of grey. Grey was all there was; all anyone had ever seen; all anyone ever expected. But Willow remembered color: blue, violet, gold. Remembered a sun and a moon; stars and clouds; light and rainbows. She remembered them.

Or did she?

Perhaps, her thoughts whispered, she had only _dreamed_ of color and sunshine. Perhaps _they_ were the dream, not this world of empty life. But, Willow argued with herself, how could I dream something I've never seen? As a child, her madness responded, you dreamt of monsters that you had never seen before so what makes this any different?

Nothing.

Closing her eyes Willow saw herself in high school, sitting in the library laughing with her friends and wanted to believe that the vision was real but couldn't. So entwined were her dreams and her reality that she couldn't pick one from the other. Reason told her that the world in which she found herself standing – a world devoid of colorful life and suspended between two barriers of shimmering, dry light – was reality. _It_ was the world of true existence. How could it not be? Everything felt real, looked real, performed the tasks Willow's mind told her they should. Is that not, her mind spoke to her, a definition of reality?

Yes.

The twisted coil of dream and reality began to untwine. Reality began to fade into dream and dream to reality. The world of color and life Willow viewed behind closed eyes was being painted in doubt. Willow's own logic, which screamed at her not to believe in the world of grey, was silenced by her thoughts of madness which encouraged her disbelief in the absurdity of a color filled world.

Submission. Surrender. Delirium.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"How long has she been like this?"

"All day."

Buffy felt as though she may faint. The air rushed from her lungs and her knees gave out. Falling into the chair beside the bed Buffy tried the hide the tears in her eyes. She needed to be the strong one; needed to give support to the others. If Buffy broke-down her friends would not be long to follow. Forcing air into her lungs Buffy pushed herself back up and looked down at Willow.

Pale, sweating and thrashing beneath her sheets the helpless redhead murmured beneath her breath and moaned painfully. It was easy enough for her friends to see that she was fighting something in her dreams. What it was, however, they could never hope to guess.

"Has she woken at all?"

Neither of them would meet Buffy's eyes. They blamed themselves. They were, after all, the one's living with Willow and they should have caught the signs earlier – her subtle hints for help, her unspoken fear of falling asleep. Willow had been pleading for them to notice but they, who were supposed to know her best, had seen nothing. Blame they placed upon themselves. "No," Tara finally answered.

Placing a hand over her mouth Buffy looked back at Willow once more before turning and leaving the room. It was too much, even for the Slayer.

"Has Giles found anything?" Spike asked.

"No," Buffy shook her head.

"We'll find something," Tara tried to reassure the struggling Slayer. "We have to."

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip down her cheek Buffy nodded and tried to smile. "You're right. I mean, this is Willow. We can't give up."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ugh. This place is never going to be clean."

"Cheer up, Cordelia. It's just a little dust."

Cringing at the pile of dust settling at her feet Cordelia cocked her head and looked at Wesley, "This isn't mere dust, this is son of dust. This is the kind of dust that spawns countless generations of little baby dust." Watching as the mounds of dust simply scattered from her rag and landed in a dozen smaller piles Cordelia sighed. "I give up."

"Very well," Wesley straightened, "we'll just move our offices back to your living room."

Snatching up her rag Cordelia turned back to the shelf, "And I'm dusting."

"Cordelia, do you – "

Crying out Cordelia clutched her head and collapsed to the floor. Behind closed eyes images flashed before her while a head-splitting pain surged through her skull. Wesley was at her side immediately and Angel was soon kneeling beside her as well. 

"Cordy?"

Sitting up slowly Cordelia rubbed her temples. "Ouch."

"Here," Wesley handed her a glass of water a couple of aspirin.

After swallowing the pills she suddenly remembered the vision and turned panicked eyes to Angel. "We're going to Sunnydale," she said. "Willow's in trouble."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

          The line was beginning to haze. Dream and reality no longer stood apart. They were now one and the same – feeding from each other, using each other. They were pulling her further and further into their pit of deception. Things that once meant so much to her were now slipping from her thoughts. Fears were manifesting from her mind – everything that terrified her now existed and plagued her while she slept. 

Or was it when she was awake?

Willow could no longer tell when it was she slept and when she woke. The madness that thrived within her told Willow that the world of color she sometimes found herself in, a world of friends and happiness, that _that_ was the land of dreams and not to believe them. Her lingering sanity, however, pleaded with Willow to ignore the realm of grey, a place of despair and sadness, and to awake to her life. 

But her sanity was no more then a whisper and Willow was lost to her madness.

"Where's Buffy?"

"What a silly question, Willow."

"Silly? I don't understand Mrs. Summers."

"Willow, honey, Buffy's dead."

That initial instinct to refuse such an answer, to argue that it was absurd – Willow _knew_ Buffy was alive, saw her just hours before – that instinct was utterly withered and dying. Buffy lived in the colored-world and the colored-world was a land of dreams. No, Willow did not argue the frank statement of Buffy's death. Instead, she simply shrugged and continued her work without a second thought or feeling of loss.

Oblivious. Deceived. Fading.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy sat at Willow's side morning and night for three days hoping, praying that her friend were break the spell she was under. Only twice did Willow awake but on both occasions she did no more then mutter incoherent words before falling back into slumber. Buffy was distraught and overcome with grief. Every hour, every minute that her friend lay helpless was another hour, another minute that Willow suffered while she was able to do nothing. At a loss as to what to do Buffy could do nothing but watch and wait.

Spike and Tara tried every hour to pull Buffy away but their attempts were futile for she stubbornly refused to budge. Xander had come to see Willow a couple of times but the sight – his childhood friend slowly dying in her own dreams – was too much for him to handle. Anya had attempted to be gentle-hearted but her un-thought bluntness only angered Buffy and the grieving Slayer had thrown the ex-demon from the room.

Buffy felt helpless and weak – emotions she was not at all accustomed to – and therefore grew to detest herself for not being able to help the one person who truly needed her.

Research brought no new information to light and the Scooby Gang had reached the end of the road. There was no where else to look, no one left to turn to. For the first time, they failed to find an answer.

"I won't accept that," Buffy argued through her tears. "There's got to be _something_. A book we overlooked, a contact we skipped."

"There's nothing," Giles admitted pitifully.

"There has to be," Buffy pleaded. "We can't just give up. I _won't_ fail her."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angel, Cordelia and Wesley stood outside the gate of a Victorian-styled mansion. All looking for the strength to speak and the words to stay. Cordelia's vision had immediately sent the three former Scooby's into a panic. Willow was in danger and the gang in Sunnydale was out of options.

Without a word spoken between them, the three piled into Angel's car without so much as a glance back at Angel Investigations and headed towards the only person with any hope of feeling Willow. Cordelia stood nervous and skeptical; Wesley was un-admittedly frightened; and Angel, well Angel was determined. He had known exactly who was needed and how to find her.

She had, after all, been his masterpiece.

"Daddy has come to see us, Miss Edith."

"We need your help."

"The stars are whispering. Do you hear them? Psst, psst, psst. She's in trouble, isn't she my Angel? You're redhead witch."

"Can you help her or not?"

"My head is swimming with her, I can't hear anything else. She is falling, Miss Edith. Falling deeper and deeper. Soon she will be lost. We must save her, for Daddy."

"Where has she gone, Dru?"


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

          Flames – leaping, consuming. Enfolding her body and feeding off her flesh. White heat dragging her down into the pits of fire. Willow lay lost within the fever, blind to the world around her and drowning inside her mind. Sickness had latched onto her and Willow was powerless to fight against it.

          The world of grey began to fade and Willow was pulled in all directions, stretched far beyond her limits and screaming for release. Eyes open, always open, Willow watched herself move through the realms of madness, felt their cries, tasted their tears. Twisted and torn around the lies that surrounded her Willow felt the grip upon her mind tighten as her feet touched ground.

          She was running. Fear prickled at the nape of her neck and an ice chill shivered down her spine. Willow remembered this. Remembered running through these streets and hearing those footsteps behind her. It had been a dream, once upon a time, but now it was real and Willow felt the cold chill of it reach out to her.

          Death.

          Arms gripping her. Still breath against her flesh. Teeth piercing her flesh. She remembered this and wanted to believe it was only a dream but the delusion of her thoughts told Willow it was no dream. Slowly, so slowly, did her life begin to slip. Her heart pounded in her chest, slower and slower. One beat, two. Death was in grasp once more but her fingertips only brushed it before new life pulled her back. New life she feared.

          Vampire.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Five days. Five days since Willow last opened her eyes. Five days since she became lost. Buffy was in turmoil and shaken to her core. Always, now, did her body tremble and always did tears stain her cheeks. She could do nothing but sit by Willow's side and plead with her to come back, to ignore the foul whispers that had so chained her within her dreams. But Willow couldn't hear her and Buffy slipped further and further into her grief.

          How many days had Willow lay stricken with this curse? Nine days? Ten? Buffy had lost count. How long had it been since she left Willow's side for even a moment? Day and night melded into one and Buffy lost all sense of the world around her. All that mattered was Willow.

          Xander had taken to sleeping on Willow's couch and sat at Buffy's side when she wept for her friend. He held Willow's hand and brushed her brow with a cool cloth. His heart bled to see Willow in such a state and often ached to such a degree that the very sight of his best friend tore at him from the inside out. 

          Willow needed her friends and they were powerless to help her.

          "Where did these come from?" Buffy starred, in horror, at the puncture marks upon Willow's throat. They were fresh, still seeping blood, and Buffy knew them for what they were. "Where?" She demanded turning her eyes to Spike.

          "Don't look at me," Spike responded. "I haven't touched her."

          Brushing the open wounds with a damp cloth Buffy felt her eyes well while her heart burned with confusion. How? Willow had not moved in more than a week and a half and her wounds still bled fresh. "I don't understand," Buffy sobbed. "How can she have a vampire's bite?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          "She's frightened. I can smell her tears. So sweet, so innocent. The black is consuming her. The stars sing of her madness. Can you hear them, Miss Edith?"

          Willow was not the only one frightened. Wesley sat trembling and Cordelia wept silently – both wishing Dru would silence her ravings, neither strong enough to ask it. Angel starred out the windshield, his grip upon the steering wheel turning his fingers white. Willow was dying. But it was not her body being slowly tortured but her mind. Like Dru, Willow was being driven insane and unable to stop it.

          Dru gasped and her eyes opened wide. "Oh, such terrible things she is suffering. So much pain. It is taking her deeper, gripping her tighter. It whispers to me of her pain. Do you want to know what it says, Daddy?"

          "Tell me, Dru," Angel demanded.

          "Daddy must say please," Dru pouted.

          "Damnit Drusilla," Angel snapped. "Stop acting like a child.

          "It wants to keep her," Dru whispered. "Her strength calls to him and he wishes to possess her. Wishes to bring her down into his darkness and consume her for eternity." With a sadistic, childlike grin Due added, "Soon, Daddy, your redheaded witch will slip and into to depths of evil she will fall."


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

          Silence. Dread. Abandonment.

          A sticky sense of absence coated her tongue – a sour taste in her mouth. Absence of sound, of color, of life, of self. There was no feeling of self left in her body – Willow was a part, a piece of the abstract – of the ungraspable conception. 

          Her hazy world grew more and more distant as she tumbled down, down into, what exactly? Death? Hell? Nightmare? There was no sense of time – no way for her to know how long she'd been lost in that puzzle of confusion. All around her pulsed the bleak, emptiness – yet how could she be enfolded in emptiness when 'emptiness' implies simply the absence of something and Willow somehow felt that where she was, _was_ absence itself. So how could it be empty?

          Her mind whirled and ached. It was far beyond her comprehension to understand where, exactly, she was and what it was she felt inching through her veins. Draining her, slowly draining her strength and consciousness, that 'virus' had sunk its fangs into her flesh and Willow was too entrapped in the blackness of her own mind to fight it.

          Submission. Weakness. Surrender.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          There was a knock at the front door, jarring Buffy from the fretful nightmare she had stumbled into her. Still gripping Willow's hand in her own Buffy had rested her head in the crook of her arm, tears staining the white sheets. Sitting up and brushing the hair from her face she heard another knock. Looking behind her Buffy saw Tara open her bedroom door and descend the stairs. Glimpsing Spike follow his lover towards the front door Buffy turned her attention, once more, to Willow.

          Lying still as death; heart beating only softly; breath inaudible. If not for her Slayer senses Buffy would have thought Willow dead. The puncture marks on her neck had begun to heal but none of the Scooby's could explain them. Giles had been at almost constant research for the past, god how many days had it been? Buffy starred into Willow's troubled face and tried to soothe her friend with words of comfort. Whether or not Willow heard her didn't matter – it comforted Buffy to know that she was somehow attempting to help her friend. Even if she wasn't.

          Almost two weeks. That's how long it had been since Willow first fell ill. Ill wasn't what she was but it sounded better, to Buffy at any rate, then saying spellbound or cursed. How much longer could Willow survive in the condition she was in? Buffy didn't want to think about. She wouldn't.

          Hearing footsteps behind her and Xander's voices speaking her name Buffy lifted her eyes from Willow's face. "Oh my god."

          "They're here to help," Xander said.

          Buffy starred, disbelievingly. "Angel?"

          "I'm so sorry, Buffy."

          Nodding miserably the blonde Slayer brushed Willow's forehead, attempting to smile. Instead she choked on her tears. "I can't help her."

          "Shh." Kneeling at Buffy's side Angel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and cradled her against his chest.

          "Angel, I can't help her," Buffy sobbed. "She's my best friend and I can't help her."

          "I brought someone who can," Angel whispered.

          Pushing away gently, Buffy looked into Angel's eyes. "Who?"

          "Should I sing to her, my Angel? Mummy would sing me to sleep and all the fairies and sprites would bite at my heels."

          Buffy leapt to her feet, horror and confusion seething from her eyes. "What the hell's that loony bitch doing here?"

          Smiling eerily Drusilla steps around Buffy and touches Willow's cheek. "I can't see her," her voice was barely a whisper. "It's dark where she is. I don't like it, Daddy. It hurts Princess."

          "Hush, Dru," Angel drew the trembling vampire into his arms.

          "So lost," Drusilla murmured. "Daddy's redhead is so lost."

          Forcing her eyes to meet his Angel asked, "Can you reach her, Dru? Can you bring Willow back?"

          Shaking her head gently Drusilla pressed her palm against Angel's chest. "Only you, my Angel. Only you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Someone was reaching out to her, pulling at her, urging her. Closing her eyes Willow tried to push the feeling away. She wouldn't be forced away again. She wouldn't go back to that vortex of absence.

          "No," she said aloud. "I won't let you take me. I don't want to go back there. I don't want to dream anymore. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone"

          Behind her, set in a row, sat six headstones along a low hilltop. Taking one last glimpse to the reality and shaking away her dreams, Willow said goodbye to her friends, reading silently the names etched into gray stone.

          Xander, Giles, Anya, Tara, Spike, Buffy.

          As she walked away from the pain filled memories a voice, deep in her mind, laughed deliriously. Willow's madness has finally consumed her last spark of sanity and left her to spiral in her own nightmare.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

          Sitting and starring at a colorless world filled with empty, vapid people that lived a ceaseless cycle of death and grief Willow knew the dusty air she breathed and the barrenness she dreamt was real. The pallidness of her flesh, the apathy of her being, the solitude of her heart, the ignorance of her eyes. There was no laughter, no love, no joy, no hope. Nothing. There was nothing but cruel, monotonous eternity painted by demise and sealed in grim inevitability. Memories became nightmares and dreams a monstrous torture. Days slipped by, one after another, indistinguishable and tedious. The same emotionless faces and meaningless conversation. The same blank places and sunless sky.

          No strength. No purpose. No self.

          "Willow?"

          Prying her gaze away from the ashen horizon Willow looked into hollow eyes. Head tilted and lips thin the woman held out her arms to Willow, her hands concealing a softly glowing orb of sullied color. Blinking, Willow starred at the woman.

          "Willow, sweetie you're breaking etiquette."

          "I'm sorry," Willow murmured, clutching the small orb between her own hands. "I didn't mean to, Mrs. Summers."

          Against her skin the orb was cold as ice but it burned like flames in a fire – a pain welcomed as a distraction from a world devoid of sensation. Captivated once more with the changeless horizon Willow diffidently allowed the pulsing orb to consume what lingering remnants of defiance remained buried deep in her mind; allowed it to drain her very essence of self and life until she lay withered and spent. Weakened and lost Willow simply starred at the lividness surrounding her.

          Obscured. Decaying. Vacant.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Buffy had refused to be in the same room as Drusilla but she had also refused to leave Willow's side. Drusilla, on the other hand, demanded to be left alone with Willow and claimed that what she was asked to do required physical contact. In the end it was Angel that convinced Buffy to leave Willow's room.

          "I don't trust her, Angel."

          Looking at his ex-lover Angel replied with finality, "I do."

          Tears welled in Buffy's eyes and she quickly covered her face in her hands. She was the Slayer. She was supposed to be strong and in-control. She was supposed to be able to help her friend. At the moment Buffy was none of that. She was scared.

          "Cordelia," standing Angel moved to stand at the ex-cheerleader's side. Cordy looked pale and tired, her hair was plastered to her face and she was slowly massaging her temples.

          "I'm fine," she waved away Angel's concern before he could even speak. "But we need to talk," gripping his wrist Cordelia urged Angel towards the hallway.

          Nodding, Angel ushered the brunette into the hall, where Wesley stood waiting. "What's going on?"

          "Cordy had a vision," Wesley answered.

          "And not one I ever want to have again."

          Angel grew worried. "What?"

          "It's Willow," Cordelia answered. "She's dying."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Finger's prodding at her mind, searching, clawing, destroying. Lying motionless atop a blanket of sand that burned and tore at her flesh Willow watched the sky flash in shades of crimson and gold. Flames leapt into the air, smoke billowing higher and higher. Gray swallowed by black and decay. Pain drowned in death. The world burned before her eyes, slowing dying and sinking beneath the earth, and Willow could do nothing but watch. Stripped from her was any strength she once held, any sense of anything at all. 

Willow was a piece of the abstract. She was tumbling down a tower of pure absence where nothing existed except nothingness itself. Life and death were one and the same: torture, cruelty, utter solitude, cold and dank. Flames crawled up her body and slowly consumed her but she couldn't scream or flee. She was trapped and Death took its hold once more but where there was death there was life and with life came tarnished agony.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

          Urgency. Compulsion. Ambiguity.

          There was something she was supposed to do. Something she was expected to know. Something she'd forgotten. But there was nothing. She'd done all that she was instructed to do, performed all that was expected of her. There was nothing left to do or say or remember. But something still pulled at the furthest reaches of her mind. Searching the black cloud that had consumed her thoughts Willow tried to extract that lingering thread of awareness – the attempt was made vainly.

          Her mind turned away and Willow was abandoned, once more, to the horror's surrounding her. Skies of fire and meadows of death and decay. A desert of corpses and an ocean of misery. Winds of rancid pungency and bouquets of rotting flesh. No beauty. No sanity. No life. Only suffering and demise.

          Lifting her eyes to the slate mist ardently latched onto the burning existence before her Willow clung to the pulsating orb between her palms, its warm glow encasing her frail body. Screams of pain. Cries of fury. Howls of surrender. Whimpers of dying hope.

          Deep within her Willow felt someone, something, draining the spark from her blood, her breath, her life. She felt her mind, her thought, her consciousness all surrender to its will and desire. She felt her life being torn from her but couldn't remember how to fight it, or if she should.

          Chagrin. Relinquish. Despair.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          "Daddy's little tree is being pulled away," Drusilla spoke in a sing-song voice. "She's not fighting anymore. She's lost hope."

          Tearing his eyes away from Willow's form Angel looked at Drusilla who was grinning down at the slight redhead. "Tell me what to do, Dru."

          Touching Willow's cheek Drusilla closed her eyes and began to slowly sway atop her feet. "It's so cold, my Angel. So cold and empty." Gasping she opened her eyes and met Angel's stare. "The flames have taken her, Daddy. She's lost in them and doesn't know how to find her way back."

          "Tell me what to do," Angel demanded again. "Tell me how to reach her."

          Stretching out her arm Drusilla said, "Take my hand and place your fingers against her brow."

          Angel did as Drusilla told him, arching an expectant eyebrow at his childe. "Dru – "

          "Hush," she hissed. "Daddy must me silent, Miss Edith. Daddy must listen to Dru." Angel nodded, lowering his eyes back to Willow. "Now close your eyes, my Angel. Close your eyes and see your redhead as you remember her. Place yourself at her side." Drusilla became to hum gently under her breath, the sound easing Angel's mind until the image of Willow beside him felt real. "Reach out to her," Drusilla whispered. "Take her hand and pull yourself to where she is. _Be_ with your little tree. _Be_ Willow."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          An icy chill ran down Angel's spine, prickling his flesh and churning his blood. Unneeded he drew a shuddering breath, bitter air reverberating through his lungs and choking in his throat. Allowing his eyes to flutter open Angel gasped.

          Flames lurched from beneath the ground. Springs bubbled and spit black, oily water. Fields of blood-stained sands spanned further then his sight. Mounds of burning flesh rose smoke that sickened him. Pushing himself to his feet, standing atop quivering legs, Angel looked upon the land before him in utter disbelief.

          Angel had been to Hell and suffered there for over a century but he had never, in his entire existence, witnessed such absolute agony and ruin. Someone, something, had torn away and destroyed all light, all bliss, all soul. Daring a step Angel lifted his eyes and glimpsed a veil of bleary fog enfolding the whole of the fire-fed land and felt its potency, its evil lace through his veins.

          Angel stood amidst the epitome of nightmare and fear. He stood in isolation and abandonment. He stood in the cage that entrapped Willow. 

Turning his eyes away from the veil Angel drew another breath, forcing his trembling body to still. Willow was there, somewhere, and he was going to find her. Find her and bring her back from the grasp of the monster that held her; from the monster that was drinking from her essence and stealing her life. Angel would rescue Willow even if it meant losing his own life.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What happened to him?"

"He's gone to where she lies."

"What have you done to him?"

"Daddy is going to find his little tree and bring her back."

Buffy starred, horrified, at Angel's still form draped over Willow's body. Warm tears slipped from her cheeks, her head hung and her arms draped hopelessly at her sides. Buffy was at a loss. Willow was still lost in her own mind and Angel, apparently, had gone after her while she could still do nothing to help either of the people she loved. Resting her gaze atop Drusilla's Buffy could nothing but weep.

"Do not fret, Slayer," Drusilla comforted. "My Angel will bring her back to you."


End file.
